


my secrets (become your truth)

by hooksandheroics



Series: all I am, all I need [1]
Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, First Meetings, Orpheus and Eurydice in NYC, Poor Boy with a Guitar, Smut, They're Just Kids Trying to Make it in the Big Apple, Young Girl with a Violin, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21906205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hooksandheroics/pseuds/hooksandheroics
Summary: This is the prelude to a love found, love lost, and then found again.Eurydice runs away from home and finds a boy with a heavenly voice and a guitar, in a strange city full of strangers. If she stayed the night, would she be able to stay away after?
Relationships: Eurydice/Orpheus (Hadestown)
Series: all I am, all I need [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1577956
Comments: 11
Kudos: 44





	my secrets (become your truth)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyfriday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyfriday/gifts).



> oh god it's 5am and i only just finished this.
> 
> shoutout out to tara (ladyfriday) because she's the most supportive. love you, bitch. this is unbeta-ed, made with love, and probably laden with mistakes.
> 
> merry christmas, tara, this is my early christmas present. 
> 
> and happy holidays to you all! hope you enjoy
> 
> disclaimer: my knowledge of greek mythology is limited only to hadestown and secondhand info from percy jackson, and even then i wasn't listening much. please excuse my use of greek names outside the hadestown canon.

(If she digs deep enough, the memory would become a dream and it would feel like sitting in front of a movie screen.)

When she walks into the bar, Eurydice wasn’t thinking about the still-unpacked suitcase in her friend’s living room, or the couch that she will be sleeping on tonight. There is little on her mind about her sleeping arrangements, or how she came about sleeping on a friend’s couch in an unfamiliar city.

Not at all about the phone she threw into the water at Central Park earlier. (Not at all thinking about the actual costs of her decisions, but she felt it was symbolic.)

She is, however, thinking about the number of tequila shots she can get for free if she plays her cards right. And of course, the “HELP WANTED” sign that she nabbed from outside the door of the bar.

She feels the fake ID in her pocket, ready to whip it out if needed.

It is fairly crowded for a Monday night, a little warmer than outside, which is nice for her because she didn’t think New York City would be this cold at this time of the year and all she has on right now is a jacket. The bar has a stage at the far end where a couple guys are setting up. The chatter is alive and there’s anticipation in the air. Now, Eurydice regrets not reading the marquee up front.

The man at the bar looks friendly, friendlier when he smiles at her and points at a table when she shows him the ad.

“I’m applying –” she says, but the guy shakes his head and laughs quietly.

“You’re not from around here?” the bartender asks, which does not really sound like a question but Eurydice nods anyway. “Well,” he continues. “Sit down, enjoy the night, and when he’s done you can bother me again.”

“But –”

“The name is Hermes, sit down, and order.”

“I don’t have any money with me.”

“On me.” Hermes turns to a customer and nods, before giving her another smile. “Stay and then we’ll talk.”

Sharp feedback tears through the noise of the crowd, and then a sheepish laugh into the microphone. When Eurydice looks up, a boy with a guitar is up on the stage, his eyes scanning the eager crowd. There is a feeling surrounding her right now, something new that she hasn’t felt before. Maybe it’s the new city, or the kindness of strange bartenders, or the lilting music coming from the boy’s guitar –

Next thing she knows, she’s sitting down, trying to make the food on her plate last a little longer. There are stars in the boy’s eyes, the kind only the youthful have. She’s seen it in her own before… she ended up here. He smiles and strums, and he looks glad. Like he’s glad he’s up there and talking to people. He hasn’t even started, and she already feels at ease.

“My name is Orpheus,” the boy says, and then he sings.

*

When Eurydice got to New York, the first thing she did was call Ophelia because she got lost around Central Park, which she didn’t think would be _this_ big. And when her friend got there, she chucked the phone into the lake thinking, “that’s part of the rebellion”. She is untouchable here, not even her parents can find her. At the time, it felt like relief to be able to live without the thought of disappointing anyone.

There’s also a small case sitting beside her suitcase, one that holds the extremely expensive violin her parents got her for her 15th birthday. The one that she’s never used for concerts. Not even to practice. But it’s the one she brought with her, the one she decided to bring in rebellion. It’s the only thing that ties her to her roots.

That may be the most expensive thing she’d gotten before she left home, and even if she added the cost of everything in her massive suitcase, it wouldn’t even touch the price of the violin.

If nothing else, Eurydice thinks, she’d sell it and be out of Ophelia’s hair in no time.

However, an expensive violin wouldn’t help her at the moment, and now she regrets the phone she drowned in Central Park because there’s no way she’d be able to ask for the singing boy’s number and actually call him.

_Nice going, Eurydice._

Still, her feet carry her to the end of the bar where he’s siting, laughing with some of the patrons. Hermes passes by her and gives her a wink before attending to another customer.

She’s perhaps five steps away from the boy when he looks up and blinks, stops mid-sentence, and stands abruptly.

He looks like he’d seen a ghost.

The patrons, a couple of guys in their mid-forties, take one look at them and then leave. One of them pats the him on the back good-naturedly, laughing amusedly.

“Hi,” Eurydice says when they’re alone, and if she thought she’d at least get a smooth reply from the boy with the voice as smooth as silk, she is gravely wrong.

He shakes his head as if to clear it and then – “It’s you.”

“It’s me,” she says, giggling. It’s cute when he’s flustered. “Do we know each other?”

“No, I – I saw you in the crowd.” He has blush high on his cheeks looking younger than he must be, if he can play at bars like this.

“I was sitting at the back.”

He nods. “I… yeah you were.”

There is sincerity in his twinkling eyes, and it reminds her of the stars in her ceiling back home. Eurydice can’t help it, she’s endeared and amused. The way he was on that stage, confident and brave, with a voice that is as lovely as it is powerful – it’s hard to connect all of that with the boy in front of her, stuttering and blushing.

She bites her lip against the smile that’s threatening to burst out of her. “I’m Eurydice,” she says, sticking her hand out. He takes it, shakes it, and nods.

“Orpheus,” he manages.

His hand is warm around hers, callouses that tell her of the years he spent playing. The same can be felt on her fingertips.

She laughs at the absurdity of it all, the time slowing down as their hands slide away from each other. His throat moving with the lump he swallows before laughing, too. He must see it, the sheer impossibility of feeling the same way at the same time with a stranger.

This is weird, she thinks.

“I have never heard Bowie sung like that,” she tells him, and if it’s even possible, he blushes harder. His hair, which is now going every which way from the way he pulled at it during his set, is now even messier as he runs a hand through it. It is absolutely endearing. “You’re really good.”

“Oh, thanks.” He looks down in embarrassment, perhaps because he wasn’t used to getting compliments directly like this. She hasn’t seen anyone like him before. “I wasn’t planning on doing Bowie tonight, but the one before me was doing something similar to the set I originally planned, and it just felt repetitive so I just… I had to make a quick change. I hope I didn’t mess up that badly.”

Eurydice reaches out, her hand landing on the arm he has on the bar. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you did better than that asshole who stole your set.”

That startles a laugh out of him, and then he looks up at her with those stunningly hazel eyes, stars in them the way she’d noticed the first time. It feels different when it’s there in front of her. (Like the sky is close enough to touch.) “I’m doing Nina Simone this weekend, if you’re… if you’re around.”

This is when Eurydice realizes that if she doesn’t get the bar job that she actually came here for, she might not be around.

“I’m actually looking for a job and I saw the ad for this bar, and I thought I might check it out.” She looks down, at the clothes she hadn’t changed ever since she landed in New York. “The bartender said I need to finish your set before I can talk to him.”

“Oh, Mister Hermes?” his eyes light up like lights in the square. “Yeah, come on, I’ll annoy him for you.”

He takes her hand and leads her to the back of the bar, ignoring Hermes’ protests about “kids behind my bar” and “getting me arrested, I swear to the lord”.

“What is it, boy?” Hermes says exasperatedly, wiping glasses aggressively.

“This is Eurydice,” Orpheus tells him, looking at her with a smile. “She’s looking for a job. I think you should hire her.”

The bartender, for all his annoyance at Orpheus, could only roll his eyes and hide a smirk. “That’s not how it usually works, you know.”

“Yes, I do know,” he replies, hand squeezing hers as if to say _I got this, don’t worry_. “But you’ve been complaining about working the floor all the time. Here’s the answer.”

Hermes sets the glasses down and looks Eurydice in the eye. “This your first job?”

Does her classical training, concerts, and performances count as experience? Probably not. “Not really,” she says.

“Good,” the man nods and purses his lips. “Can you start tomorrow?”

 _Oh_.

“Oh, yes.” She looks up at Orpheus who’s looking down at her with the brightest smile. “Thank you.”

He shakes his head. _It’s nothing_ , he seems to say with his kind eyes.

Hermes snaps his fingers. “Tomorrow, girl. Now get out of my bar.”

*

Eurydice knows this in her heart – that this might just be her luck. She finds and gets a job from the first place she looked in, and the boy with the guitar is a good kisser. He’s a really _great_ kisser.

He has hands gentle as a butterfly’s wings, the ones he has on her waist. Not skimming, not even touching at all, just hovering above her skin.

She presses them to her with her own hands, laughs when he huffs in amusement. “You can touch,” she murmurs against his lips and he smiles. The taste of that smile is sweet against her own, and when her tongue touches his, he moans, a small noise that she wants to hear again.

She has him pressed up against the wall of the alley beside the bar, drunk but not intoxicated. Not really.

She has never seen New York the way she’s seeing it right now – night sky only as dark as the dimmest marquee on Broadway, the chatter only as quiet as the most recently opened art gallery by the street corner. There is so much life in this city and the heart that’s beating against her own chest, the boy’s, is showing her the life she didn’t know it had.

She hadn’t been drinking, which, she’s surprised to find makes this whole thing better. She wouldn’t wanna miss out on the small choked up noises Orpheus does whenever she touches him. The feeling of his breath against her lips, the heat making its way down her stomach.

He pulls her closer and she’s thankful that she’s sober because she’s already unsteady and the only way she is upright is because he’s holding her close.

“Eurydice,” he breathes, and her name sounds so good in a voice roughened with lust. The way he says it. It sounds like reverence. It also sounds like a question and at the moment, her only answer is –

“Yes.”

He laughs quietly and it sounds like the chimes on her window back home. “You didn’t even know the question.”

“Is it ‘come back to my place’?” she says, her hand on his chest, tracing patterns. She has his shirt unbuttoned by two buttons, and already, she can feel the goosebumps on his skin. He shudders and looks up at her in a daze, eyes glazed over with the spell that’s surrounding them.

It’s exhilarating, the way he looks at her.

And then he drops his forehead onto her shoulder, laughing again. She finds herself joining in, even without the context.

She’s turned on beyond what she thought was possible, going to sleep with a stranger, probably going to sleep on her friend’s couch tonight after, and still hasn’t unpacked her suitcase. Her life is a mess and now she’s in an alley, making out with this perfect gentleman who’s made up of layers she feels she’s looking at through a clean transparent window.

This is absurd.

And this is also just her luck. Maybe tomorrow, he’d be gone and that’s alright.

Right now, she just wants to take him home. Or – no, she wants him to take her home.

“Are you drunk?” he asks, fingers on her chin. His eyes are so sincere, so lovely.

She shakes her head. “You’ve been with me all night. I haven’t drunk a single drop. And besides, Rob won’t let me.”

She watches as his eyes widen in realization. “Oh god, how old are you?” he asks and then shakes his head, hands flying away from her skin. “And no lying, please.”

Eurydice laughs so loudly she thinks she might disturb the actual noisy bar. “I’m eighteen, Orpheus, calm down.” She kisses him, soft on the lips, and he relaxes. “You’re not... gonna get me arrested, are you?”

This time, he shakes his head and bites her lower lip, sending sparks shooting down her stomach. “No, you’re okay.”

And then, as if a dam broke, his kisses become deeper. The hands on her waist seek her skin out, travels to her back to pull her even closer. He puts his thigh between her legs and lets her grind against him, and it feels so raw, so hot, that she can’t help but groan when he nips at her neck.

“I…” he starts, and then swallows hard. “I don’t usually do this.”

Eurydice’s breath catches in her chest. “Do you want to stop?”

He gives her a small smile and shakes his head. “No, I just.” He lets out a nervous huff. “My place is not far from here. I just need to get my gear and I… you’ll be here when I get back?”

She pulls away and lets him stand, hands still in each other’s grasps. Something about the sincerity in his eyes, something about the warmth of his hand, something about the slight tremble in the wind when he asked, that makes her say she’ll stay and wait for him.

It wasn’t anything big, but it felt right to assure him. It felt like something that she’s saying to herself.

*

They don’t take a cab, although he offers. _It’s only a couple blocks away_ , he said. _The night isn’t that dark._

 _We can walk_ , was what she replied.

And if they had taken that cab, she would have missed the magic that is Times Square at midnight.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” he had said as they walked into the middle of the square. He has his gear in one hand and her hand in the other, and it’s cold. She only has her jacket on and his coat is threadbare. For a moment, she feels carefree; floating and alive in the cold of New York. The only connection she has is the warmth of his fingers around hers.

(If she stores this memory well, it would still hold the magic it held the first time.)

Right now, though, as she keeps her eyes up at the screens like a child at Christmas midnight – there’s anticipation in her chest the size of the moon.

The last time she’d been in New York, she was sixteen and angry at the world. Three days, five shows, fingertips so calloused they felt nothing but the notes to her violin that she’d thought she could play in her sleep.

She flubbed a piece at a show, and it felt terrible, it felt like the end of the world. She’d looked at the audience and thought they’d heard it. It was one note – a G natural instead of a sharp. Her music teacher would have snapped at her to learn how to read her key signatures.

Nobody noticed.

She had a crisis on that stage, and nobody even noticed.

Now, she’s holding the hand of a strange boy, looking up at the large Times Square screens and watching odd things pass by her vision. The last time could not have been more different than tonight.

There’s a pair of hazel eyes smiling at her as she takes it all in, like her amusement is _his_ , too. Like her elation is his, too. Her hand tightens around his and he nods. _Mission accomplished_ , his grin says.

“We can stay for a bit,” he murmurs, quiet as if to not disturb the delicate magic around them.

When she looks up at him, his gaze is present and grounding. She feels the gentle weight of it in her chest, the possibilities of literally anything right now, channeled through this boy who is giving her all the time in the world that she could get.

He knows absolutely nothing about her but her name, and yet.

“Take me home,” she replies, and he nods, says _yes_ so breathlessly.

The night is fathomless.

*

If Eurydice thought about it harder, she would notice the bare walls or the scattered sheets of music on the floor. She would notice the windows barely closing against the harsh breeze of fall. There’s a chill settling around her.

But his mouth is hot against her neck and his hands are pressed against her skin with the bravado that he was hiding when they were back at the bar. There’s liquid fire running under her skin unlike anything she’d ever felt before as he pins her to the door. His gear is somewhere to the wall, haphazardly set down as they made their way into his apartment making out and trying not to make too much noise.

His hands make their way to the underside of her breasts, skimming the line of her bra, while his teeth are skimming the skin of her neck. She feels weak, holding onto him and being swept away by the lust coursing through her.

He bites at her earlobe, sends sparks down her belly, and she can’t help but gasp. “Orpheus,” she says, hands tightening in his hair.

He groans and presses closer, his body hard against hers. She feels the effect of his breathless name from her lips and she smiles to herself. _He likes that_ , she thinks, remembering that little thing for later.

“Come on,” she urges, trying to push at his shoulders. He laughs quietly at her rush, still not letting her go. “You have a bed, right?”

“I do,” he replies against her cheek, a smile there that she can feel down to her toes. His voice sounds rough, as turned on as she, and it exhilarates her.

“Take me to bed,” she says, and for the first time in a while, he meets her eyes. He doesn’t pull far away, just a careful distance that says he’s not going away, just… letting her breathe. Letting her decide.

“You sure?” he asks, voice soft and undemanding. _How could she be so lucky?_

They’re in his apartment, he has his hands under her shirt, and he’s hard inside his pants – and still he asks her if she’s sure as if she went home with him with the intention of, what, washing his dishes? A strange boy with the kindest eyes she’s ever seen.

She cards her hands through his already messy hair, watches him nibble at his kiss-bitten lips, and decides, _yes, I’m sure_.

“I’m sure,” she says out loud because for some reason, he’s still patiently waiting for her answer. He gives her a smile so bright it reminds her that he still hadn’t switched the lights on.

Never mind that, he grabs her hand and leads her to a door down a short hallway.

“I wasn’t…” he fumbles with the doorknob which doesn’t seem to be cooperating. “Sorry, this always happens, I was hoping it wouldn’t happen tonight but I – sorry, I was saying, I wasn’t expecting anyone tonight so my room might be – it’s a bit messy.”

The doorknob is still stubborn, and he’s so nervous, as if a malfunctioning door would put her off. She’s already in it, and she would very much like to get him naked sometime in the night, but she’s not in any hurry.

She winds her arms around his waist, the heat coming from his back comforting her.

“I swear,” he says, hand on her arm as if to tell her everything is alright, “I already told my landlord about this. I gotta… remind him again, I guess.”

“That’s okay,” she tells his clothed back. “You also have a decent couch, right?”

He turns around in her embrace and faces her, chewing his bottom lip in embarrassment and a bit of nerves. “Yes… kinda, but. I don’t want to hurt you. That thing’s a million years old, it might break.”

Eurydice sighs, takes his face in her hands and kisses him softly. “Let me try, then.”

For some completely unbeknownst reason, the knob gives easily with a turn of her wrist.

“Oh,” she says.

“Oh,” he echoes, curious and amused. “That’s… amaz –

She lunges at him, cutting him off with a kiss that makes him stumble enough to lean on the wall opposite his now open door. He moans when she runs a hand down his chest to his groin, rubbing him for a hot second before pulling away with the dirtiest noise she’s ever made and pulling him by the hand into his room.

He follows in a daze, stumbling a little on his own feet.

It's not big, probably as messy as his living room, but the bed is made and there’s nothing on it but clean sheets and a pillow.

He pulls her in again, mouthing at the back of her neck. “Can I undress you?” he asks against her skin.

Oh god, yes.

She doesn’t speak, just takes his hands and puts them to the hem of her shirt. He takes that as the acquiescence that it is and pulls her shirt up until she’s left in her bra. He turns her around and kisses the bared skin, the tops of her breasts, her collarbones, sucks her nipples even with her bra in the way.

“This, too?” he murmurs as his hands skim the waistband of her jeans, but he’s already behind because her boots are off before he even asked.

“Do it,” she urges, her own hands guiding his to unbutton her pants and rid her of the material. His palms leave hot trails around her skin and never mind the cold, she is running warm.

She gasps when his hand cups her through her panties. “Can I?” he asks, rubbing her with barely-there pressure.

“Yes.”

He's hungry and single-minded in driving her out of her mind with pleasure – it seems unfair that he is still fully-clothed. Unfortunate, too, that he is too good with distracting her because he’s got a inside her underwear, a finger running through her wet folds. She clutches at his shoulder, cheeks pressed to his chest because she feels like she’s being touched for the first time.

“Orpheus,” she moans his name, eyes closing in pleasure as he keeps at the pressure. His finger finds her clit, and she gasps. “Orpheus, please.”

She didn’t know how turned on she was until he’s pushing a finger in.

“More,” she urges, and he obliges, pushes another one.

An arm is around her back while the other is pushing and pulling in and out of her, and when her knees give in, he holds her up while she wraps her arms around his shoulders.

(There’s security in this intimate embrace, one she doesn’t examine until much later.)

She’s moaning into his still-clothed chest, unable to form words because there’s only this heat between them, and the sharpness of his focus on giving her pleasure that exist. She clutches harder as she veers closer to her climax, surprised at herself at how close she actually is.

“I’m close,” she whispers, more on a gasp than her own voice. “Orpheus, I’m close.”

He grunts and goes faster, deeper. He curves his fingers just right – just right there – and she comes. Mindless and overwhelming – she presses her body closer to him, wanting his skin against hers. She wants him, craves a touch like his –

“Oh god,” she gasps when his fingers still. It’s a good minute before she comes back to her senses, feeling the chill around her as the thin sheen of sweat cools down her bare back.

“You okay?” he asks and when she looks up, she sees such a sweet smile on him that she just – she needs him. She needs him to lose control, she needs him to blush and close his eyes in pleasure, just like he did with her.

She pulls him towards the bed, pushing him down until he sits, eyes never leaving her face. _Such a noble gentleman,_ she thinks, grinning wickedly.

She starts with tossing his jacket away, and then with the buttons on his shirt, all the while kissing his lips, his cheeks, his neck. He chokes back a moan when she presses a kiss down the middle of his chest as she reveals more of his skin.

“Is this okay?” she asks in return, but she’s grinning because his pants are obviously tented with his arousal. “Tell me, is this okay?”

She knows her game, she knows what she’s playing at, and it thrills her to see the blush high on his cheeks even with just the moonlight shining down on them. He has his shirt unbuttoned all the way down and his chest heaves with deep and uneven breaths – all this and she hasn’t even touched him there.

His lips are parted and he’s staring at her as if he can’t believe she’s there, kneeling between his open legs, hands hovering over his pants.

“Yes,” he breathes out, almost in a groan.

She runs her palms from his waist down to his knees, careful not to touch his erection, and he moans in frustration. She likes it – she likes it when his brows furrow in concentration, focusing all his thoughts into order. She likes that she sees it clearly on his face – the want, the lust.

Eurydice unbuttons his jeans and takes him out, and just like that, all the breath in his lungs rush out of him in one long sigh. She strokes him gently and he squeezes his eyes shut.

“You like that?”

He nods, unable to speak, when his chest is rising and falling in heavy breathing.

She watches him like that, stroking steadily until she sees beads of precome at his tip.

“Eurydice,” he moans, wrapping a hand around her wrist. “You have to stop. I-I won’t last, and I want to –,” he pulls her by the shoulders and turns them around until she’s laid out on the bed.

He reaches into the drawer near the bed and fishes out a condom, giving her a shy smile before putting it on.

By god, he is gorgeous half-dressed like this, eyes dark and wide and focused on her. He hovers above her, kissing her within an inch of her life, loving the way lust tastes between their tongues. For a minute, she wants this moment bottled and kept.

A stranger in a strange city, with her suitcase still unpacked, and an unsure tomorrow – she’s never been this free in her life. It thrills her, excites her, and she grins against his mouth. Giddy and heady, as she kisses him dirty.

“You’re…” he whispers, dazed. He runs a fingertip to her cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, eyes taking her in. “You’re beautiful.”

 _Oh_.

He’s on his elbows, forehead resting against hers, and breathing in together the absurdity of it all. And he’s beautiful, too. She remembers so vividly the way he sang in that bar, up on that stage. The way he strummed that guitar like it has never been played without the careful gentleness that he played it with. He talked with the patrons as if he’s never not known them. Everything seems surreal, a girl’s luck doesn’t usually go this far, but here she is on this boy’s bed, skin to skin.

She smiles at him and unhooks her bra, tosses it aside, and follows it with her panties. She’s naked on this boy’s bed and he has stars in his eyes.

“Don’t you want to be naked, too?” she asks, biting her bottom lip teasingly.

He breathes in and nods, at a loss for words, and shucks his jeans off. His hand returns to her cunt, spreading her wetness and rubbing at her clit. He’s so good with his hands, it’s insane to think that he’s shy and reserved outside the bedroom.

She reaches up and grips at the soft hair at the back of his head, pulling him closer, kissing him deeply. He makes a choked noise at the back of his throat when she lines him up against her entrance, and then a long, drawn out moan when she urges him to push into her. She answers him with a groan of her own as he fills her and makes her feel like her skin is on fire.

She’s wet down her thighs, trembling with the need to feel him move, while he’s letting her take her time to adjust.

“Please,” she says.

And he moves, almost pulls out, and then pushes back in. He feels so good, sounds so good, and Eurydice’s so turned on she can feel her orgasm come closer.

They find a rhythm and he keeps at it but –

She raises her leg and flips them over, almost smoothly. He slips out of her but she’s quick to slide him back in, dimly noting with amusement his wide eyes and parted lips.

“Oh god,” he gasps when she ends up on top, her weight settling nicely on his hips. A smile fights its way to his lips, and she can’t help but bend over and give him a kiss so gentle it burns her a little. And then she starts moving and he loses that grin, wiped away by unguarded pleasure. His eyes shut, neck arching off the bed as he whispers her name.

She feels her climax build back up again, their rhythm getting more erratic by the second. And then he presses a finger to her clit, and she feels it climb up faster, like he knew she needed this.

The incessant tug at her to press them skin to skin wins, bending her and letting her swim in the warmth that is shared between their bodies. She lays her head on his chest and lets their rhythm take over their bodies, seeks out the steady beat of his heart as he wraps an arm around her back and a hand protectively to the back of her neck.

She gasps, loud and wordless, when she comes, her muscles contracting around him, white light exploding behind her eyelids as she rides it out. He comes too, spills inside her as she comes down from her high. She hears his labored breathing in time with hers, the push and pull of their bodies as they catch their breaths, still pressed skin to skin.

For a minute, she lets her mind float into untethered pleasure, loves the way it feels when he strokes her back absentmindedly.

She knows that in a few minutes, she would have to leave. But for now, she stays in his embrace, hears him chuckle silently as they gain their bearings.

*

It’s almost a quarter to two in the morning and she still isn’t dressed, but he’s playing with the ends of her hair and telling her about the merits of the subway system versus owning a car in New York City, weirdly passionate about walking around and taking everything in. She kinda likes it, likes the way he speaks when he’s unbridled and naked and passionate.

Still, she has to leave. There’s a couch waiting for her at her friend’s apartment, and Orpheus has been too kind to let her breathe before she left. She’s going to find a place soon (if she decided to actually sell her violin) and she’ll be out of everybody’s hair in no time. She will get settled, get a job, and maybe go to college, and bother no one.

And then maybe, she’ll find Orpheus again.

“Where are you going?” he asks when she gets up.

“I should go home.”

He sits up, too, lovely with the shades of purple on his chest and his neck. “Right now? I can walk you home, it’s unsafe this time.”

Eurydice shakes her head. “You don’t have to, I don’t wanna bother you.”

“It’s not a bother, I swear,” he replies. “Or…” he bites his lip and gives her these puppy eyes that she bets has worked in his favor before. “You can stay. It’s really no big deal.”

Her heart leaps in her chest at how earnest he sounds. “Are you sure?”

Orpheus smiles, hearing the waver in her voice and counting it as leaning towards staying. “Yeah, and I’ll walk you home tomorrow when it’s daytime.”

She thinks this over, wishes now more than ever that she had a way to contact Ophelia, tell her she’s safe and sleeping over at a strangely kind boy’s apartment after having the best sex she’s ever had.

She lays back down and his grin turns into a beam, delighted and giddy. Part of her brain can’t believe he exists, a person so guileless and lovely. But he’s here and they’re lounging in his bed, talking.

*

The first thing Eurydice discovers about Orpheus that isn’t related to sex is that he is a light sleeper. The next thing is that he is definitely not a morning person.

When she got up at 7 to pee and make breakfast, he’s up, too, but not without a pout. “Too early,” he murmured, but he followed her out into the kitchen and sat on the stool by the counter, sipping coffee and squinting at the sunlight streaming into the window.

Now he’s watching her make breakfast with whatever’s left on his fridge from the day before, in his button down and just her panties.

“I’m going to the store later,” he tells her when she frowns at the lack of food in his cupboards. “I think I have bread up there and some eggs.”

“French toast, it is,” Eurydice says and rolls her eyes fondly at his answering grin.

Several minutes pass by in silence, nothing but the sizzling of the pan and the occasional drag of Orpheus’s mug on the counter as he sits there contemplating his morning. When she turns with two plates of French toast, he murmurs thanks and digs in.

“Where do you live?” he asks in the middle of their rather silent meal. “I mean… if you don’t wanna tell me, that’s okay. But I still insist on walking you to your street.”

Eurydice grins, he’s too much of a gentleman. “Not very far, I actually forgot what it’s called, but I know how to get there. It’s my friend’s apartment.”

He nods and takes a bite before washing it down with coffee. “Wish I had a roommate, too.”

Eurydice laughs. “Don’t know if you can call us roommates if I sleep on her couch.”

“You sleep on her couch?” he says, eyes wide. “Why?”

She takes a sip of her own coffee and shrugs. “I just got here from North Carolina. Literally just last night. I set down my bags at Ophelia’s place, and set out to look for a job just so I can find a place of my own as soon as possible. She already lives with two other people and I don’t wanna impose any more than I already have.”

Orpheus is silent for a minute, frown on his face. “North Carolina? That’s far.”

“Yeah.” Eurydice thinks that’s enough spilling for the day.

“Well,” he says, absentmindedly stirring his coffee with a teaspoon. “I know this is going to sound weird and you can definitely say no, but… as I said, I kinda need a roommate. Rent is going up in three months and I might not be able to afford it on my own.”

“Orpheus, you don’t have to – that’s not –”

“And since I know you’re just starting with the job at the bar, you can give as much as you can, no pressure. I lived alone with the rent as it is, I think I can live three more months. After that, you can pay me back.”

This can’t be her luck, she can’t be this lucky.

“I only have the one bedroom,” he adds sheepishly. “But I have a pullout. And – and I swear this is not so I can sleep with you again, although last night was amazing. I just… think if you’re looking for an apartment that’s close to the bar and, uh, fairly decent, you can stay here.”

Silence, and then:

“Only if you want.”

At the same time as her traitorous mouth says, “Okay.”

He blinks. “Wait, really?”

She thinks it over again. It’s fairly decent, a little messy, but she can’t be choosy about it. Besides, there’s really no need for a pullout if they’d already slept together. But, she thinks, if they do this, they shouldn’t sleep together again.

That’s dangerous, she decides. So, she says yes.

He huffs in disbelief and nods, smiling to himself.

*

(If she stored all these memories right, she can take them out one day and look at them and still feel the elation all over again.)

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked it, leave a kudos or a comment!


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